Chapter 24
Gellir’s heart dropped. Clearly, the haycart driver had betrayed him, despite his dire warning.
He looked past Merraid then and saw the impressive band of warriors marching behind her. His mother and father. Feiyan and Brand. Jenefer and Morgan. A contingent of Rivenloch men. And his little brother and sister.
They must have freed Merraid.
But what were they doing here? And why were they so heavily armed? Did they mean to confront the king? Or wage war against the earls? Would they destroy the peace Merraid had orchestrated?
So far, they seemed peaceable enough. Laird Deirdre raised her hand, and the clan paused to respectfully lower their heads toward the king.
All but Merraid. She’d never seen the king up close before. And thrilled by his presence, she rushed excitedly forward. In another moment, she might have broken all protocol. Fallen to her knees at his feet. And seized his hand between her shackled own.
But Gellir quickly threw his arm out to stop her.
She sobered then, realizing her mistake, and bowed her head. “Your Grace.”
“A lass?” Malcolm exclaimed. “No doubt a Rivenloch warrior maid.” He nodded in recognition toward Laird Deirdre. Then he eyed her shackles. “But what’s this? Have the earls taken you prisoner?”
Gellir felt a guilty flush rise in his cheeks.
But Merraid intervened to save his honor. She smiled, brazenly confiding, “They had to shackle me, Your Grace, ere they lost any more warriors.”
Malcolm chuckled at that. “Now that peace has been forged,” he decreed, “we shall have your chains removed.”
How “we” were going to do that, Gellir didn’t know. If there was a key to the shackles, it was in Adam’s satchel, and Adam had disappeared.
Then the king stepped closer to murmur, “Lass, you fought bravely on our behalf against so many. Is there anything you would like as reward?”
She thought for a moment and then said, “Aye, Your Grace.”
Gellir tensed.
She should have said nay.
She should have said that serving her king was reward enough.
That was what he would have said.
But she wasn’t a noble knight. She was a maidservant who knew nothing of chivalry. Of humility. Of duty to one’s king.
What would she ask for? Coin? Jewels? Land?
Shite. She was venturing into a world she didn’t know. She was going to get herself into trouble. And there was nothing he could do.
Even as he had that thought, he knew deep in his heart, if Merraid needed rescuing, he would defy king and country to come to her aid.
Merraid had been waiting for this moment. She straightened, mustering up her courage. Now was her chance. Now was her opportunity to defend Gellir.
“We await your pleasure,” the king said.
“I would…that is… May I speak with Your Grace in private?”
She felt Gellir stiffen beside her. But that was exactly the reason she wanted a private audience. For what she planned to divulge to the king, she didn’t want Gellir or any other Rivenloch peering over her shoulder, telling her what a maidservant should and should not say.
By the glimmer in the king’s eyes, he seemed amused rather than offended. “By all means.” He gestured to Fertech’s pavilion. “May we?”
“Of course, Your Grace,” Fertech said.
She entered the pavilion, which was lavishly appointed for the long siege Fertech had expected.
The king followed with four of his men. Naturally, they wouldn’t be completely alone. A king must always have at least two trusty men guarding his flank. And a young king was wise to keep a pair of older, experienced advisors nearby.
Malcolm seated himself, commanding the earl’s chair as if it were his own. He summoned her near.
She knelt before him.
“What do you wish to say to us?”
Merraid had a challenging task before her. She had to combine the truth with diplomacy. She had to leave Hew’s name out of the story. And she had to do it in as few words as possible so as not to waste the king’s time.
“As ye may recall, the Laird o’ Dunlop wrote to ye to secure Sir Gellir as bridegroom to his daughter.”
“Lady Carenza,” Malcolm replied. “She is a great beauty.”
“Aye, Your Grace, and sweet and kind. Her father bid her wed at once. But what he didn’t know was her heart belonged to another.” She lowered her eyes. “And she was already with child.”
The advisors grumbled in disapproval.
The king hushed them. “Go on.”
“The lady wished to do the right thing. She wished to honor the betrothal. But she didn’t have the heart to deceive her bridegroom. And so she ran away.”
The king nodded.
“Once Sir Gellir learned his bride had fled to her true love,” she continued, “he couldn’t let her bear the shame o’ her actions. Neither did he wish shame upon his clan. And so he wrote a missive, sayin’ ’twas he who’d broken the betrothal.”
“A noble sacrifice,” the king said with an admiring sigh.
“Aye, Your Grace.”
The king steepled his hands, considering her words. “What would you have us do?”
“Forgive them, Your Grace,” she said. “That’s all. Lady Carenza and Sir Gellir, they’re goodhearted, both o’ them. They meant to do right. ’Tis neither o’ their fault the betrothal was broken. They shouldn’t have to suffer disgrace and dishonor because of it.”
The king narrowed his eyes at her. “You’re a good friend to Grim Gellir.”
“I try to be, Your Grace.”
“You fought nobly for us by his side.”
She humbly lowered her gaze.
The king didn’t give her an answer. After their brief discourse, he simply rose and said to his men, “Shall we go? Ere the earls reconsider our newly won peace?”
Merraid managed to hide her disappointment. But she was disappointed. Was that it? Did Malcolm mean to do nothing?
When they emerged from the pavilion, the tension in the air was so palpable, Merraid expected lightning at any moment.
Gellir’s brow was as dark as a thunderhead.
Laird Deirdre’s fists were clenched. Feiyan had gone pale.
Even young Isabel had a quivering hand over her mouth, as if she expected someone to lose their head.
She supposed they had a right to be upset. They couldn’t know what secrets she’d revealed to the king. But though Merraid was impulsive, she wasn’t a fool. They should have trusted her.
King Malcolm held up his hands then and announced, “We have been made aware that the betrothal between Lady Carenza of Dunlop and Sir Gellir Cameliard of Rivenloch has been broken.”
The earls glanced around, unsure what they were supposed to do.
The Rivenloch warriors stiffened, poised for battle.
Malcolm continued. “By royal decree, let it forthwith be known that no dishonor shall stain either clan for this mutual…indiscretion.”
A collective sigh filled the air. It felt as if a great weight had been lifted off Merraid’s shoulders.
She’d done it.
She’d saved Gellir’s honor.
Now he was free.
He could do what he loved best. Whether that was pursuing glory on the tournament field.
Or going home to Rivenloch with his head held high.
Or even resuming his search for a bride—whom his sister Isabel called The One.
While the crowd began to chatter in speculation, Merraid turned to look at Gellir. Her lips trembled in an uncertain smile. He had every right to be vexed with her for exposing the truth. But she hoped he would realize the outcome justified the deed.
What she didn’t expect was the awe and disbelief and gratitude she saw in his gaze. No longer grim and foreboding, his face shone with an inner light. His clear and earnest eyes were full of admiration and respect. Adoration and pride and wonder.
“You did this for me,” he murmured.
Her heart filled to overflowing at his precious words.
All her efforts had been worthwhile after all.
All the spying she’d done.
All the missives she’d written.
All the miles she’d trudged on his behalf.
She’d been able to give him the gift of redemption.
She’d never loved him more.
But she couldn’t say that.
Instead she shrugged. “’Tis what friends are for.”
Deep in her soul, she knew she was far more to Gellir. And a twinge of pain twisted her heart, reminding her he could never be hers. Still, she counted herself the luckiest woman in the world to be able to stand in the bright light of his affection. To call herself his friend.
“What about you, Grim Gellir?” the king sang out, interrupting her thoughts and halting the conversation around them. “What reward do you seek for your loyalty in defending us?”
Merraid knew chivalrous Gellir would ask for nothing. He would claim the mere honor of defending his king was reward enough. It was the way he was. Noble. Worthy. Gallant to a fault.
As she expected, he placed one hand across his heart and said, “I ask no reward for myself.” Then he added, “But if it pleases Your Grace, I would request a special dispensation on behalf of your loyal subject.” He indicated Merraid.
She was dumbstruck. She could hardly be called a loyal subject. She’d only met Malcolm. And before today, she’d had her ears filled with mostly disparaging comments from Feiyan about the Sassenach-loving Scottish king.
“A special dispensation?” the king asked.
Merraid wondered about that as well.
Gellir straightened and said, “Though Merraid of Darragh is of humble birth, she is of noble heart. I know she would be most grateful, Your Grace, if you bestowed upon her the honor of knighthood.”
Merraid blinked. Surely she’d heard wrong. The murmurs around her said otherwise.
And to her surprise, the king smiled in approval. Indeed, he clasped his hands together with delight. “Brilliant! She shall be the first warrior maid knighted by our hand.”
Merraid couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t move.
Only when Gellir grinned and gave her a nudge forward did she grasp the truth. She was going to become a knight.
She could hardly contain her pleasure as she tentatively approached the king.
She supposed she should have been prepared. This was why she’d trained so hard for the last four years, after all. And she had just proved her loyalty to the king.
Still, it was hard to believe her dream was coming true. And that Gellir had made it so.
Even harder to imagine the King of Scotland himself meant to knight her.
Before she could comprehend what was happening, Malcolm drew a magnificent jeweled sword. “Kneel.”
She lowered herself onto her knees.
The king then lightly tapped her head with the flat of the blade.
“In the name of God…” He tapped her left shoulder.
“Saint George…” He tapped her right shoulder.
“And Saint Michael…” He sheathed his sword and raised his gauntleted right hand.
“We hereby lift you to the ranks of knighthood. Never again shall a gauntlet be raised against you without your answering for it.” He then gave a hearty clout to the left side of her neck—not hard enough to knock her over, just hard enough to make her blink—and stepped back. “Rise.”
She stood on shaky legs as the magnitude of what she’d just achieved struck her.
The king raised his arms to the crowd and proclaimed, “With these words, a knight is born.”
Everyone cheered.
Then the king murmured to her, “Do you have a sword?”
Merraid furrowed her brow. She hadn’t brought her jian. And she’d lost the weapon Adam had loaned her.
“Your Grace,” Lady Feiyan said, approaching and unbuckling her own weapon.
Merraid’s throat thickened. It meant everything to have Feiyan’s approval.
The king took the swordbelt from Feiyan and handed it to Merraid. “This is for you,” he said, “a sword from your sister in arms. Use it with wisdom, courage, and devotion.”
Merraid buckled the swordbelt around her hips with trembling fingers while everyone around her cheered again. Even the earls she’d knocked to the ground.
She had never been happier.
Maybe it was Feiyan’s sword she carried, but it was a symbol of her new responsibilities.
Maybe it was Adam’s armor she wore, but it represented her new status.
And maybe she stood beside someone else’s bridegroom, but he was beaming at her as if she were his whole world.
Gellir had never felt more proud. The dizzy smile on Merraid’s face and the tears of overwhelming joy standing in her eyes—those brought him more pleasure than any glory on the tournament field.
This was the deep satisfaction that had been missing from his life. All the prizes he’d won, the victories he’d claimed, the honors he’d accrued. They felt hollow compared to the heady thrill he got from seeing his cherished friend achieve her hard-won goal.
The privilege of honor had come easily for Gellir. He was a man. A Rivenloch. The son of a laird.
But Merraid had had to work for every scrap of respect she received.
Against all odds, she’d persevered. Despite her womanhood.
Despite her humble birth. Despite her social standing.
She’d risen to the challenge in a world that sought to thwart her at every turn.
And though Gellir had played some small part in helping her take that final step, it was Merraid’s triumph.
Caught up in sharing her victory, Gellir took little notice of what was happening around him. But eventually he noticed a quiet, heated discussion going through the Rivenloch ranks.
It appeared his sister Isabel was stirring up her usual mischief. She was arguing with their mother the laird in a frantic storm of hisses, waving her arms about wildly one moment and begging with clasped hands the next.
Feiyan and Jenefer kept chiming in with their muttered opinions, alternately frowning and crossing their arms, tilting their heads in indecision, and nodding.
The Rivenloch warriors mumbled together. Some shrugged. Some shook their heads.
Not wishing to be involved in what appeared to be delicate negotiations, Pagan, Morgan, and Brand stood aside.
Young Ian watched with calm interest, finally voicing a verdict that Laird Deirdre and everyone else could agree upon.
Isabel gave a wee squeal of victory. She rushed up to Gellir to whisper in his ear. After she spoke, she gave him a giddy grin, laughing aloud.
But he could only stare at her in wonder. Was what she said true?
He glanced over at the Rivenlochs. At the warriors. At his parents. All the clan stood of one accord. Laird Deirdre was beaming at him.
It was true.
He let his gaze drift back to Merraid. Beautiful, bright Merraid. Who made his heart swell. Who made his spirit soar. Who made his soul feel complete.
“Your Grace,” he called out, “may I make one other request?”
“What is it?”
He locked eyes with Merraid as he addressed the king. “If she’ll have me,” he said, “I should very much like to be wedded to your newest noble knight.”
Merraid’s happy gasp was answer enough. And the rapture in her eyes was so compelling and so blinding that Gellir didn’t much care whether the king approved or not.